


Insomnia Café

by obriensbetch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1 times, 5 times 1 time, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Stiles Stilinski, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Clubbing, Coffee Shops, Denial of Feelings, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Derek Has Issues, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Drunk Sex, Drunk Stiles, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Gen, Hidden Feelings, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Oblivious Stiles, One Night Stands, POV Stiles, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Feels, Swingers, The Jungle (Teen Wolf), sterek, trope: five and one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obriensbetch/pseuds/obriensbetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finally meets the man of his dreams. Except he runs away every time they seem to be starting something.</p><p>~</p><p>Five Times Stiles Cheated and One Time He Found Out</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles Cheats

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this was originally going to be a one shot but then details and plot line got in the way and I felt the need to cut in half... so ch 1 is part 1 and ch 2 is part 2
> 
> Also please let me know what you think, be brutal, be honest!! This is my first try at Sterek fic (oddly enough it's my ultimate OTP) and i have like barely any experience with the male physique so...
> 
> And lastly, if you recognize the title, yes, it's a nod to one of the original names for the tv show Friends!! :)
> 
> Please enjoy guys!!!

Stiles laughs at Isaac's expression of chagrin as yet another sweltering hot cup of espresso rushes at the floor, his shoes, and the bottoms of his pants. That marks the third time he's dropped a cup this week and, if Isaac hadn't adamantly refused to acknowledge Stiles' many suggestions to _just hold the damn cups from the bottom instead of by the lid_ , he might feel marginally more sympathy for the kid. He doesn't know what conspiracy is plotting against him in the barista business, but this is just another of the line of trainees he's had that believe all of his _logically sound_  advice is pure bull.

He turns back to his position beside of the cash register while Isaac trudges back to the supply closet for a mop and a fresh pair of jeans (stocking extra clothes there was Stiles' idea). Its pretty sad that he's been a barista at the same coffee shop long to have a long line of trainees and a say in the stockage of extra clothes.

The bell above the door clinks as its swung carefully open, pulling Stiles from his thoughts.

His jaw drops with a huff when he sees the man that enters. He is six feet of utter muscle and beauty. His forest green Henley is snug against his full chest and his sinewy thighs fit gorgeously in his chinos.

Stiles is wondering how good his ass looks in them when he meets hazel green eyes and the most terrifying scowl of pure annoyance he has ever been on the receiving end of in his whole life. And that's saying something.

He gulps, heat rushing to his face at the realization of being caught staring. The man takes the few steps to the counter, hands finding purchase on its top.

"What can I get you?" Does his voice sound too squeaky? He feels like his voice sounds too squeaky.

The customer gives him another glare, eyebrow quirking up in judgment, which he doesn't feel deserves -- I mean, you can't just walk around looking like _that_  and then judge people when they notice -- before responding, "Directions. And A large coffee."

"One big cup o' joe, coming up," Stiles repeats, finger jumping across the familiar buttons of the register habitually and grabbing a cup with the other hand.

He picks up the bill from off the counter where the burly man before him had pushed it toward him. As he puts the money up and rips out the receipt, Stiles can feel the man's eyes on him. Its unnerving to have so much judgment and annoyance so concentrated on him. To eliviate the awkwardness, he turns to the coffee machine without looking up and begins rambling.

"So graveyard shift, huh? Are you heading to work? That's okay, I work the graveyard shift too -- obviously. But there are good things about it, you know, like how you're only my third customer today. Which is nice, because for some reason people tend to not like me. Even my trainees don't listen to me when I talk -- which I guess says more about them than about me. But joke's on them because I have it in with the boss and I can get all their asses fired -- uh, here."

Stiles returns to the counter and hands the man the cup, eyes on their fingers. He is _definitely not_  disappointed when he grabs the cup by the bottom, thoroughly avoiding accidental hand brushing.

He catches his eye again just as he hears Isaac come bumbling back in from the back.

"Stiles, these pants are your size! Why would you leave me your pants? They're too short. I feel like I'm wearing high-waters -- oh!"

Stiles smirks as Isaac quickly mouths an apology before sliding between him and the coffee machine, bumping his hip with Stiles' in good-humored embarrassment, to continue making the espresso the now bored customer has yet to receive. When Stiles turns back to his own burly customer, he's staring at Isaac with an unreadable expression. He doesn't bother to make eye contact when he gives Stiles curt nod and turns to stride out the door.

Stiles watches him in equal parts resigned depression and elated fantasy. He attempts to commit every inch of that ass to memory as it disappears out of his shop.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Isaac says from over his shoulder, mirth evident in his voice. "' _You would climb that like a tree._ '"

 

It's not until later that night, when Stiles is recounting the infamous beauty that was the Scowling Coffee God to his manager--and bff--Scott, that he realizes he hadn't even gotten a chance to ask him about the directions. He goes to bed staring at his cieling in vague regret and wondering where someone like that might have needed direction to. 

~

The next time it happens he doesn't even see it coming. Literally.

"Oof--"

He was just running around, searching for Danny's Frisbee when -- slam! -- he face-planted into a rock hard wall of men scent and leather jacket fabric. His body lurches backward from the impact and he just knows he's about to fall on his face -- his arms flailing back and forth -- when a thick strong arm wraps around his waist like a supporting rod.

It holds him up perfectly, but he can't help the last involuntary whip of his arm, searching for purchase and finding it -- hard -- on a big scruffy face.

"Oh my God, dude, I'm so sorry!"

He meets eyes with familiar green eyes and immediately becomes way too aware of every point of their bodies that are touching. Stiles' entire torso is pressed into the burly coffee customers, his huge arm anchoring him just below his ribcage. He doesn't even notice that his fingers are curled into the guys T-shirt (probably definitely wrinkling its perfect).

Their faces have too few inches between them and Stiles swears he can feel a soft puff of breath against his moistened lip. This close, he can see so many gorgeous details he didn't notice before, like the little scar above his brow. His stubble hides where his cheeks might have dimples. God, he wishes he could see if he could get this Greek god to smile big enough to make dimples.

Then he sees the look on the guys face: like he just ate a lemon. Oh right.

He pulls back, detangling himself from the man and patting the wrinkles out of his shirt before stepping back and out of his personal space.

"Sorry, I was just, uh, looking for..." he trails off in a murmur, thumb hooking over his shoulder to motion to where Scott, Isaac and Danny are waiting.

The guy is still frowning at him when a voice yanks them from their staring contest.

"Derek!"

Stiles follows the mans gaze to see a woman striding toward them, long blonde hair bouncing behind her. Of course, he thinks. There was no way this beautiful man with his sculpted ass is single.

He glances at her as she arrives beside him, arm immediately sliding into the crook of who Stiles now knows is _Derek_. She eyes him in interest.

"Who's your friend?"

"Not my friend."

"I'm Stiles," he says because ouch. "I made his coffee and then slapped his face whilst sprinting through the park."

The womans eyebrow raises slowly and one corner of her lip lifts in what is clearly mischief. He's spent too many years knowing Lydia to not recognize it when he sees trouble on the horizon.

"You make coffee?"

He nods warily. "At the little café on downtown, The Brewery. I work there. Obviously."

"Obviously." She intones, a satisfied smirk on her face, and is it just him or does Derek look even more pissy than usual? "I heard that place was good, by a very unbiased friend."

"Really? Most of the staff was trained by me and, if the manager wasn't my best friend, I would be out of a job by now. So. Tell your friend thanks."

The girl guffaws while Stiles and Derek watch in silence. When she finally sighs, she looks back at Stiles. "I'm Erica. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Oh?" He frowns, wondering if that's a good thing.

"Well, I mean. You make coffee, my roommate frequents your café. Trust me, this won't end here."

Stiles wonders if he should be worried about that. He doesn't get a chance though, because she's already pulling Derek away. Stiles watches them go in envy of the way she walks with her arm brushing against his.

Then he turns and heads back toward Scott and the others. He doesn't respond to the comments on his failure to retrieve the Frisbee.

But he spends the rest of the afternoon wondering about that scar and if there are others and how many hours it would take to map out and memorize the entire expanse of his new friend Derek's body.

~

He wasn't even planning on going out. I mean sure, he enjoys a good buzz as much as the next guy, but the amount of horrible pick-up lines he's going to undoubtedly receive at Jungle is just so not worth the free drinks from Danny. But Scott was somehow able to convince him to come out tonight and so here he is, sitting at the bar with three drinks in him and two guys leering at him from across the dance floor.

He takes another swig of his beer, head bobbing to the music. He nods to Danny, who's just placed another beside him before moving down the bar. When he turns back, his eye is immediately caught on the back of a head he had been daydreaming about for weeks. Or not just the head, but all of the body...

"Excuse me!" Derek yells at Danny over the music.

Stiles sees the frustrastion in his face at being ignored. He can't stand to see such a gorgeous specimen be stood up. That's what he tells himself is his reasoning as he turns to the bar, boosting himself up on his upper arms. He raises a hand into the air waving frantically to where Danny is now serving three guys in Ed Hardy t-shirts.

"Danny! Danny!!" He glances over his shoulder in confusion, but when he sees Stiles his face clears and he gives him a quick nod before turning back to the drinks he's making.

Stiles looks back to where he'd seen Derek, just a few chairs down, and -- yeah -- he's definitely staring right at him. Stiles gives him a tentative smile and yells, "Stiles, remember?"

Derek's eyebrows twist in what can only be considered amusement. "I remember. I'm Derek."

Stiles nods, teeth biting into his bottom lip in excitement. He's actually talking to the star of his fantasies in a gay club with _techno music_  playing in the background. This night might just turn around.

"Another beer, Stiles?" He looks up at Danny, grin still intact, before turning back to Derek.

"What're you having?"

"Long island iced tea."

Stiles turns back to Danny, but he's already making it. He smiles at the top of his head. Danny is a genuis, and is in school for computer and engineering. He only tends to help pay for college, but Stiles thinks he secretly likes it, the allure and mystery of being a bartender. And he won't knock 'cause the kid is _good_.

"I'll just, uh, put it on your ridiculously underused tab, eh?" Danny yells over the music, cheeky smirk in tact. In a lower voice, he adds, "And I assume you'll be spilling all at group meeting next week?"

Stiles yanks himself away from Danny where he had leaned forward to hear over what can by now only be described as noise. He winks once before moving back down the bar to the rest of his demanding customers. Stiles looks back to Derek with a tight smile. Luckily Derek seems amused.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Nah, man. It's all good. Danny's one of my closest friends, so he usually cuts my tab in half anyway. And, I mean, why waste money when the guy that slapped you can get you free drinks? Not that I'm suggesting you can't waste your money. Because I would never attempt to judge your financial status based on the amount of knowledge I have of you. But... everybody loves free drinks, right?"

Derek laughs softly and Stiles _really_  fucking wishes people would just shut the hell up real quick so that he could hear it. He seems like the kind of guy whose laughs are great. His next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them (and he blames the alcohol for that).

"You wanna go somewhere more quiet? We can bring our free drinks!"

Derek looks like he's fighting with himself over the decision, but now Stiles is buzzed, horny, and only two stools away from his running fantasy star of three weeks.

Needless to say, he's not equipped with patience for the moment. He slides off his seat and moves into Derek's space. The heat radiating off the other man is intoxicating and Stiles _needs_  to get closer to it. He takes another step, bringing them barely a foot apart. Stiles' eyes are on the other man's lips, all pouty and wet. The idea of how great they would feel pressed up against his heated skin is in the forefront of his mind when he glances back up into Derek's eyes.

The want there is staggering and Stiles very nearly jumps the stranger right there.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a great idea," he mutters, voice ragged in a way that drags straight through all Stiles' _good_  places. "Being alone, I mean. We hardly have a handle on our self-control right about now."

Crap. He is remembering just how out of his league Stiles is! Stiles has to do something to make him forget again.

"Look buddy, I'm all for sportsmanship, but really... who needs self-control when you can have super hot make-outs?"

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Smooth, Casanova."

"Then let's not make-out. We'll just talk. Away from the deafening music. Talking is good, right?"

After a moment, he concedes. Stiles grins widely at the subsmission and grabs Derek's hand. He begins to pull him through the crowd, drinks forgotten; and even though he said they would just talk; even though he's absolutely certain someone like Derek would never be with someone like him; even though he knows it could never last, he feels such a wild contentment. He is overjoyed that Derek lets him take his hands and guide him through the crowd. He sees Scott and Allison, Aiden and Lydia, amd Isaac dancing in a corner a few feet away and has a thought. He turns his head to look at Derek.

"Who're you here with?"

"That girl you met before? Her and her boyfriend, Boyd. They're my roommates."

Stiles nods in acknowledgment because his voice is actually starting to get hoarse from all the yelling.

"What about you? Does Isaac know you're here?" He asks, voice stuttering on the name. Stiles frowns, but nods. "Yeah, we all come out every Satuarday night and help 'support' Danny's side job. See, that's them."

"Oh," he responds, like he just got the punchline to a sexist joke.

Stiles decides to ignore it and instead, manages to drag them out the side door that leads to an alley. They walk through side by side and neither comment on the fact that Stiles is still clutching Derek's hand. When they get to the sidewalk, Stiles immediately sits on the curb, dragging Derek down wirh him.

"So, you and your friends?" Derek breaks the silence. "You come out a lot?"

"Yeah, at least once a month. My buddy Scott -- my manager? -- he's dating Allison and her best friend Lydia is talking to these twins, I think? So it's pretty much just Isaac and me..."

Derek nods, frown deepening. Stiles' head tilts in curiosity. He wishes he knew what was going on in that handsome head of his. He shakes the thought away.

"What about you? Whats your deal?"

"Me?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah, I mean, do you date? Are you seeing anyone or?"

Derek sighs. "I don't really want to talk about that. Maybe this was a bad idea--"

"No, no!" Stiles yells emphatically.

Derek starts to stand and walk back toward the alleyway. Stiles immediately jumps up and follows him over. Now that he's here with him, it feels impossible to let Derek go.

"Derek, look. We can talk about other stuff. We can go get ice cream and give our minds cold showers. Please."

He hates the whininess in his voice, but he can't help himself. The idea of losing what little interest Derek has shown in him is terrifying. There's a pit in his stomach from the alcohol and the hope... it's just too much feeling and he doesn't want have to look too closely about the fact that, honestly, he hadn't had that much to drink.

But if Derek leaves, he will have no choice but examine every detail of the night and every emotion either of them had felt towards it.

"Please." He repeats almost without thinking. He steps closer, but makes sure to leave lots of space for Derek to get away if he wants to. "Lets go not waste the night. Lets go seize the day. Lets go follow our dreams. Let's try and catch the wind--"

"Stiles?"

"Lets go fly kites through dream fields--"

"Stiles!"

"Yeah?" He asks, hopefully (and with these puppy dog eyes, he could give Scott a run for his money).

"I like butter pecan ice cream," he says almost tentatively.

There's a moment where Stiles is lost by the change of subject and then another as he processes the statement itself. Then, "Oh, of _course_  you would. You take something so pure and good and ruin it by putting _nuts_  in it. That is sick. You know what, I don't think this is going to work out--"

"Come on, Stiles." He says with a half smirk and begins walking toward downtown.

They get their ice cream (one scoop of butter pecan and three scoops of double chunky chocolate, compliments of Stiles) and decided to walk through park across the street.

Its not that big, just a little valley with a few trees, and a sidewalk that curves through and around it. Every few yards a streetlight shines dimly down on them as they stroll disjointedly through the park.

"So you like butter pecan ice cream, you don't seem too charmed by free drinks..."

Derek nods thoughtfully at the ground. "To be honest, I'm not much into the bar scene."

"As long as we're spilling secrets? I haven't actually gone out with my friends in over a year."

Derek makes a face, like maybe he doesn't believe him. His eyebrows quirks adorably when he says, "So no traditional club hopping night?"

"Oh, it's a tradition. I just haven't really honored it lately. Just got tired of the same songs and the same pervs, I guess. And I can drink alongside the best of them, but I prefer to do that with someone I feel comfortable with and, if I'm being honest, my friends like to pair off way too often to babysit me while I drink."

Stiles glances over at Derek to see that he's watching him out of the corner of his eye. He feels an itch of awkwardness.

"So anyway. What do you do?"

"I'm a photojournalist. I pretty much do a lot of nothing for two-thirds of the year, and for the rest of it I get paid a lot to takes pictures in exotic places."

Stiles stares in awe. "Wow. What's your favorite place you've been?"

"Probably this little town in Mexico. It's weird, people hate when I say that. They expect, you know, Italy or France or Nicaragua. But those people are exactly what you expect them to be. Beautiful and old. But this town? It's not even on the map. It was a pit stop on my way down." He pauses, looks up to see Stiles staring.

He looks so comfortable talking about this. He can't look away. "So anyway, I just went to this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and had the best Mexican food of my life. On my way back to my car, I saw this real little kid. I mean, like not even five. He was just sitting out on the sidewalk in the sun, and it was really really hot that day. I was already late from stopping to eat and I knew the editor that hired me would be pissed... and I tried to walk away, I really did. But I couldn't get that kid out of my head.

"So I went back to that restaurant and he was still there. I asked him where his family was and when I realized he was all by himself, I took him to the local precinct, rented myself a room in the only motel for miles, and I tried to get custody."

"Really?" Stiles hears himself say.

He's been so interested in the story he hasn't realized that his hand is on Derek's arm, their bodies brushing against each other as they walk. That tingling warmth is back, but he pushes it away, terrified of scaring off this stunning person.

"His name was Sammy. He was the funniest little guy, you actually remind me of him some."

The fondness in Derek's eyes as he gazes at him is unnerving, but also the most beautiful thing he's ever experienced. He never wants him to stop looking at Stiles that way. He stops under a streetlight, causing Derek to halt as well.

"What happened?"

They're standing facing each other and they're close enough that Stiles can see that little scar again. He can also see the muscles in Derek's shoulders tense. His eyes are downcast, face tilted forward. He doesn't know why he does it (just like everything he's done tonight), has no excuse for what he does next. But he doesn't need one because he doesn't even think before reaching out and wrapping his hands around Derek's. They're larger than his, and warmer too. But soft, not callous the way he would've thought they'd be.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." His voice is surprisingly soft, so he clears his throat and adds, "But I mean, you did start the story so. Not saying it would be totally _rude_ not to finish, but--"

"Stiles."

His mouth smacks shut.

Derek takes a breath, squeezing Stiles' fingers absently. "He died of leukemia, two months in. His birth mother, Kate, had it in with a Mexican gang. When Sammy died, she had a bunch of guys try to jump me. Fortunately for me, I walked away with only one scratch."

"The scar above your eye?" He nods, eyes still not meeting his. Stiles feels so bad for the troubles, guilt and mourning so clear on this mans face. He wants to ease it somehow. So he says the only thing he can think of.

"You know how I said I had it in with my boss Scott, because we were friends? Yeah. Well. That was an understatement. He's been my best friend for seventeen years. He was my *only* friend for the majority of that time. Nobody knows me like he does. Even when I've had boyfriends or girlfriends, nobody knew how to talk me down from a panic attack the way he did. Nobody knew how to distract me from girls I could never get in high school like him. So, you would think, you know, that when it happened he'd have more to say than 'I'm sorry', right? I mean, here he is, holding this mantle at ten years old, and the worst day of my life drags out in front of me, yeah? And all he can do is apologize?

"God, I was so mad at him for that. That he couldn't say whatever magic words that would make everything be okay again, bring her back. I know now that that was ridiculous, you know? To be mad at cute little snot-nosed Scott for not being able to come up anything better than that...

"Anyway, one of the biggest lessons I learned from my mom, I learned through her death. It's that there's never going to be magic words that express how much I wish you weren't hurting the way you are. But if there were..." He clears his throat, suddenly super **** aware of the mushiness of his words. "I'd be saying them to you right now."

When he meets Derek's eyes, he's surprised to see an actual darkening as his pupils dilate. He's so intense like this, all emotional and up close. It's so sexy.

"Glad you think so," Derek murmurs, eyes now definitely glued to Stiles' lips.

"Oh. Did I say that out loud?"

A puff of hot breath hits his neck, sending chills across his skin, as Derek buffs out a laugh. He takes another step closer and drops Stiles' hands to get a hold on his hips. Stiles slides his hands up Derek's shirt to clutch loosely on his collar.

"Are you okay with this?" Derek barely scrapes out.

Stiles groans impatiently, "Would you just get over here already?"

He bites his lip playfully and tugs gently on Derek's shirt, but he's already surging toward him. They meet with a clash of teeth, since apparently neither of them thought to close their mouths before attacking each other's faces. But that's okay, because it's so hot to feel Derek's tongue lick through his lips and moisten the point of contact, and their bodies hard and heated, pressed tightly together. Stiles' hands stretch around Dereks neck to hold him in place and Derek's nails dig into Stiles skin as he grinds their sweet spots into each other.

Stiles knows he is _so_  not going to last wrapped up in this guy, and that would be humiliating.

"Wow," he huffs out with a laugh. "I don't think I've ever been kissed that good before."

Derek's arms tighten around Stiles' back. "Not even by your, uh, boyfriends?"

"Trust me, dude. I am _not_  normally equipped to hook anyone as experienced as you."

He frowns at Derek's expression, which is quickly becoming less sexy and more disgruntled. He starts to rethink what Derek just asked... Not his _ex-boyfriends_ , he'd only said boyfriends... ?

"Wait--" But he doesn't get a chance to question further because he is very suddenly not wrapped up in Derek's warmth. He blinks and watches the man take several steps backward until his feet hit the grass on the other side of the sidewalk.

"Yeah, uh. This was a mistake. I, um. Gotta go."

He turns and walks away without a look back. Which is good because if he had looked back, he would've seen the hurt and rejection on Stiles face (and maybe a tear or two if Stiles is being honest, which he isn't) and Stiles is at least thankful for that.

He goes to bed that night with the ghost of strong hands on the small of his back and sweet words stuck in a ball in his throat.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edit: Stiles refers to his friends in the club and I had written Jackson with Lydia, mostly out habit, but since he doesn't actually come in til later, it was meant to say Aiden. That has been remedied.]


	2. Derek's Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek smartens up and tries not to lose the only good thing he's ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK whilst writing this I realized that there is a moment that is not nonconsensual in the direct definition, but it could be considered a very loose admission of consent, in that it is given whilst intoxicated; so if that sounds like it might be a trigger for you PLEASE read with caution.

When he said he was over it, that may have been a little optimistic. Honestly Stiles can't get Derek out of his head; the passion in his voice when he talked about Sammy, the way he held Stiles in his arms, that _kiss_.

God, the kiss. He had woken up to dreams about it all week. The wet kind. It had been the best kiss of his life, and he was including the kiss with Lydia as one of the kisses of his life.

He had never felt anything like that before, the utter desire in it, but also the way that couldn't make him forget that it was Derek he was kissing. Like maybe the kiss could've been sloppy with a lot of bad breath and way too much tongue, but it would still have been at the top of his list because it was _Derek_.

"Okay! We get it! You're madly in love with Derek!" Scott exclaims, mouth half full of the seasonal peanut brittle pieces.

He hadn't realized he was talking out loud again. He grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I just can't figure out what went wrong."

"Maybe you're not his type. I mean, wiry and obnoxiously noisy isn't _my_  type," Isaac teases, not looking up from where he's pouring a mug of coffee.

"Is that jealousy I hear, my dear Isaac?"

"Um, Stiles?" He glances over at Scott's tone to see him staring awkwardly over Stiles' shoulder.

He turns on his heel only to stop short, breath catching in his throat. "Derek."

He is standing at counter, watching the men behind Stiles. He gulps. Stiles takes a tentative step forward, unsure how to interpret the emotions on Derek's face.

"What, uh, can I do for you?"

Derek looks at him now, and sighs. His whole body seems to deflate at that, in a weary way. His huge muscles seem to hang off his bones like he hasn't slept in a while.

"Coffee?"

Stiles quickly nods, relieved that the request is something far within his capabilities. It also gives him something to do with his hands. He glances to his left and attempts to make a silent plea to Scott. He must understand because he looks over at Isaac and says, "Isaac, have you finished inventory out back?"

"No, Stiles was supposed to do it last shift--"

"Well, me and you are going to do it now." He says decisively. When Isaac doesn't move, he adds, " _Now_."

Stiles turns all the way to watch them go. He doesn't turn around until he feels as prepared for what's next as possible. He slides the coffee cup across the counter, eyes downcast.

"Anything else?"

"We should probably talk."

Stiles sighs, refusing the money held out to him. "Totally."

He rings the small bell on the counter for when there is no one at the register and jumps up onto the counter and slides over. He leads the way out onto the sidewalk and over to a bench a few steps away. He watches Derek's large mass of leather and strength amble shyly over. He doesn't sit down until Derek does.

"So the other night..."

"It shouldn't have happened. I'm just not that kind of person. I'm sorry."

Stiles can't help his frown as he glances quickly down at his hands. There is a drop of something like acid in his stomach, making him feel all kinds of uncomfortable pain. That's what it is, the pain, that's making his eyes water. Nothing else, nope.

He wonders if Derek is having a sexual identity crisis, because he can totally respect that. He knows how it feels to not understand why your body reacts to things it isn't supposed to. But what if he's saying that he's not into Stiles personally? Or that Stiles pushed him to go too far the other night? Oh God, the idea makes him sick. And embarrassed. But it means he has to be supportive of whatever Derek is feeling.

He gulps out, "Okay." Then he hears how unsupportive he sounds and adds, "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Of all the feelings, that's definitely not the way I wanted you to feel, Derek."

Derek turns away from him to look out across the street. It's not a great view, but there's a light breeze in that direction. He looks like he wants to laugh or be sick, but his body can't decide on which.

"I like you, Stiles. Against all reasoning, you keep making me like you. But I also am not okay with what went down, so I think we should just be friends, set some boundaries. Can you respect that?"

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "Of -- of course, dude. Yeah. I mean, yes definitely we can be friends. We're actually having a little get together tonight... Um, you could come over, bring your friends. It'll be fun."

~

The party proves less than fun. Danny and Isaac play beer pong while Scott and Allison take up the love seat, counting each others eyelashes judging by the distance between them. Lydia is arguing very loudly with her phone, which presumably has Aiden on the other end. 

Stiles has taken up his usual spot on the arm of the couch that just happens to face the doorway (which has yet to produce a Derek and Co. as promised). After the first ten minutes that he didn't show, Stiles began a drinking game between himself and the clock. For every ten minutes that announced no new arrivals Stiles was to take a shot.

Judging by the sheer number of times he's lost his balance and almost fallen off the arm of the couch and onto his ass should approximately indicate just _how fucking late_  Derek is. He's contemplating tearing up old photos that don't exist when a knock finally sounds over the god awful music Lydia brought.

He jumps to his feet in a flash of dizziness and nausea, but quickly recovers and heads off Danny to the door. His throat gets a weird feeling like something heart-adjacent might've just leapt up from its rightful place in his chest at the sight of his very handsomely rugged guest and the oddly model-like entourage following him inside.

Derek is wearing a forest green Henley and faded jeans, his scruff all overgrown and sexy. His eyebrows are furrowed as if he smells something funky (which, okay, maybe Stiles showered in Axe spray instead of actual water, this is a stressful night for him!!!!!). Erica is close behind him, arm wrapped tightly around a tall, muscley black guy that seems to share Derek's stony disposition. Lastly, a much shorter, still Abercombie-hot guy appears over Derek's other shoulder. He looks more pissed off than indifferent, and Stiles doesn't like the way his gaze glides around the room in cold scrutiny.

"Stiles!" Erica is the first to speak and Stiles can hear that they have already been drinking. Cheaters. "Introductions first, drinks immediately following."

He clears his throat, turns toward his friends. "Guys! This is Derek and his friends. Derek and friends, this is Scott and Allison on the couch, Lydia throttling the phone in the corner, and you know Danny and Isaac."

As he calls names, the heads of his friends each pop up in interest. He turns back, voice slurring as he fights the buzz he feels coming on. "Your turn."

"This is Boyd, my roommate and his girlfriend, Erica. And that's Erica's adopted brother Jackson." Derek explains, pointing first to the couple and then the lone blonde. "And I'm Derek."

"Yo."

"Hi."

"Hey man, beer pong?"

Stiles watches the two groups mix into each other easily like puzzle pieces fitting loosely into place. The mental image makes his fogged brain move slower for a moment, like an old wheezy computer, before it catches up to him that Derek is still standing awkwardly at his side.

"Right! Booze!" He exclaims and pulls Derek toward the kitchen, passing his nearly empty bottle of liquor pooling on Danny's new shag carpet.

He barely restrains from eying Derek's plump ass as he leans into the fridge for the beers and attempts to make eye contact when he straightens. 

"So... You showed."

"Did you think I would bail?"

"After about the first half hour of you _not_  showing... I may have started to doubt." He smirks warmly, knowing he's leaning closer, wishing he could reign in the drunk flirting.

Derek cocks a grin as well. "That's Jackson's fault. He said he wouldn't go sober, in case the party was a dud. Apparently I take him to a lot of those."

"Sounds like Lydia--"

"--Stiles, man, what's the hold up?"

Isaac comes strutting into the kitchen and Derek jerks back as if bitten. Isaac, aka Stiles' personal cold bucket of water. He reaches forward, takes three bottles from Derek and transfers them to Isaac.

"Take those out to our guests, will you, buddy?"

"Anything for you," he responds, voice dripping sarcasm.

Stiles turns back to Derek, who is chugging his beer and _god_  that is distracting. His mind bottoms out as he watches Derek's long tan neck stretched tight, Adams apple bobbing gorgeously. Yep. Thats going to prove problematic.

"As friends... I mean, we can drink together right? That's very clearly in the boundaries of friendship..."

His voice peters out as he watches Derek glances up at him from beneath those thick eyelashes. He guesses he could learn to count those beauties. He gulps involuntarily and Derek eyes his lips.

"Sure," he murmurs huskily. "Yeah, that's definitely within limits. Sure."

He reaches back into the fridge and pulls out two more beers. The cloud of cold air that hits Stiles' heated skin is chilling in very tingly places. He takes the beer eagerly, grateful for something to do with his face besides pant.

"You wanna...?" Derek points back in the direction of the living room, where everyone seems to be really enjoying themselves.

Stiles shakes his head without really thinking further than ' _please don't make me share your attention with anyone right now or I might possibly explode'_. 

And that's how they find themselves sitting on the dark balcony landing, leaning against the wall, leading out from the guest bedroom.

"Danny will kill me if he finds out I took you out here drinking. He doesn't like people going out here while they're drunk. He's had enough accidental attempted suicides and puke-covered balcony incidents."

"Danny is kind of a snob, huh?"

Stiles laughed sloppily. "The best kind though. Ironically, we were roommates all through college. And if you know nothing else about me, you know that I messily organized. Like a benevolent tornado. And... I'm going to shut up now."

Derek laughs heartily, like he hasn't let himself laugh so freely in a long time. Stiles bets he hasn't. And maybe its the booze or the view from the balcony, but Stiles thinks that maybe its him that is causing Derek's muscles to slowly unclench. 

What? A guy can dream, right?

"We should play a game."

Derek's light playful voice jerks him out of his reverie. He turns his head to stare at him, feeling whiplash at the sudden change in disposition. 

"A drinking game?"

"A kissing game."

A smirk is slowly raising the corners of his lips. Stiles' eyebrow quirks up in shocked interest. He has been painfully aware of the fact that their shoulders to hips are pressed warmly against each other since they sat down. Now the heat between them somehow seems to burn straight through their clothes, heating body parts eager to show their enthusiasm.

"Derek, I think you're drunk."

"Not drunk, happy. Why don't you join me?" A wink.

A _fucking_  wink. 

Stiles is sure now. God hates him.

"I don't know, buddy. This might be the right time to slow things down. You wanted boundaries, remember?" He asks lightly, gulping down the drool that _won't stop producing_  in his traitor mouth. "Don't you wanna respect that?"

"I wanna kiss you, Stiles. That's what I want." He murmurs, leaning close enough that Stiles can feel their breath mingling together as they breathe out.

He jolts as he feels a hand brush the top of his thigh and it takes all the willpower of a fucking warrior to wrap his hand around Derek's wrist and pull it away. "Derek, I want this. Very badly. But you said you wanted friendship and I am not a strong man. So you should stop before I totally lose grasp of my admittedly small stash of sexual control."

Derek pulls his hand out of Stiles grip and places it on the side of his neck. His fingers are cool and they send a chill through him. He whispers against Stiles' lips, "Then let go."

Their lips brush and that is just about as much as Stiles' nervous system can take. He jerks forward into it, hands reaching for purchase and finding it on Derek's hot, firm shoulders. His lips slide open easily and Stiles laps his way into the wet warmth. It is the bane of deliciousness; all sweet beer and tangy man taste. 

He does let go then, grappling at the gorgeous man in front of him. He pulls himself into Derek's lap and allows himself to pulled in tighter, hipbones bumping up into each other, knees on either side of Derek's ribcage. The pure desire pumping through him untouchable. He couldn't pull himself away if he wanted to. 

They bump and grind clumsily against each other for a while longer. Time elcipses for a bit, they are left alone. Even the night seems to wrap them up in a thick blanket of quiet peace. 

But desire only lasts so long. And eventually, even the night must recede. 

And what they're left with after that... That's what really eclipses things.

~

 It started with a random text from a random number. An "is this stiles?" text. It was as innocent as that. Stiles never intentionally began writing his ex-lovers best friend behind his back (ex- _lover_? What the hell?).

Erica had written him that first time and it had been a life line, a connection to Derek that he admittedly latched onto with ferocity. Ever since that night at Danny's apartment, he hasn't so much as seen Derek in passing. No calls, no texts, no random visits to the coffee shop (which he was, by this point, living in). 

He gets it, really. Stiles has been played before. You've been "hit and quit" once, it might as well have been done to you a thousand times. But he's never fallen for someone's play as fully as he had done Derek's. The hesitance, the sincerity. That's what gets him. How had the man faked that so damned believably?

When she first started talking to him, Erica wanted to know how he was doing in his life. She asked about his job, his friends -- Isaac, Danny. After a while though, she started asking how he was feeling. But eventually the questions ended up with "will you see him?"

Those were the ones that really bugged him. He barely knew this girl and she was picking at a pretty heavy wound that was received by her best friend. What right did she have to push him like that? Of course, he responded with a novel-length rant text on how inappropriate and insensitive she was being. That shut her up for a few days.

Unfortunately the texts just kept coming. A few weeks ago, he had decided to ignore them. He even blocked her number. That only resulted in daily texts from Boyd's phone. 

But he can't figure out what else there is to do. He can't hide behind blocked phone numbers forever. But he can damn well try.

He's sleeping on a cot in the back office at the coffee shop (and by sleeping he actually means reclining in a horizontal position whilst battling now chronic insomnia). He has no appetite. He barely shaves once a week. He's a drone on shift. He does his best not to make any physical or mental contact with alcohol. The taste... even the _smell_  make him feel sick.

Scott had been riding him for weeks to tell him what was wrong, but luckily the holidays are nearing and he and most of the crew have flown home for the winter. So nobody bothers him.

Until Christmas Eve. 

"I realized something."

Stiles' head snaps up from where had been bobbing tiredly toward his chest. The mug of straight caffeine cupped in his hands jerks a little at the jolt, causing some to spill over onto his hands. His eyes zero in on the place where that _voice_  came from and -- sure enough, there Derek Hale, standing in the door of his shop, hands in his coat pockets.

"I had an...Erica called it an 'epiphany.'"

Maybe it is a mirage, Stiles reasons. Hallucinations from the lack of sleep. Or hallucinations from the paralyzing guilt. God.

"It's like when you--"

"I know what an epiphany is, Derek."

His voice is cracked and weak, and he hates that he sounds how he feels.

Derek takes a step forward, almost instinctively, but immediately stops himself. He seems unable, however, of controlling the arm the reaches out in Stiles' direction, as he does nothing to stop it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

" _God_ \--" 

"I know, I know, its not enough. I wish I could go back -- Leaving you like that, it. It broke my heart. Just tell me how I can fix it--"

" _God, stop_! Stop apologizing, Derek!" Stiles moans, throat aching at the sudden pressure. "What the hell? I _hurt_ you! I _abused_  you--"

"Wait, what?"

"I let that _happen_ , Derek! Even though I knew you were drunk and you wanted to have boundaries. God, I basically _raped_ you, _I'm_ sorry--"

"Holy hell, Stiles. No. Stop." Derek takes several steps closer. He lets out a breath and squares his jaw. "Of course, you would find a way to see this as your fault. Stiles, I wanted that. I _wanted_  to be with you, just like I said I did. Hell, you were probably more drunk than me."

The tears are heaving freely down his chapped face now and the sobs are shuttering painfully through his empty chest, but he stares at Derek unwavering, heart pounding in his chest.

"Stiles, I left because I thought you were dating Isaac."

Stiles blinks, blindsided. "What?"

"This whole time I thought you were, like, swingers or something. I don't know, I didn't want to be the guy you cheated for."

"Isaac?" He murmurs to himself.

"--I didn't want to be the person that makes you that guy. _The Cheater_."

"Why Isaac?" Stiles voices finally, gaze finally locking with Derek's again.

He scoffs, mock offended. "You are obscenely flirtatious with him--"

"I'm obscenely flirtatious with everybody!"

"Selective flirt!"

"Selective memory!"

 "I'm in love with you, Stiles."

"God, finally. Kiss me, you jerk."

 

That night, Stiles slept like a baby wrapped up in his very own eclipser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah..... I wimped out and didn't actually write the sex scene ughhhh yes boo me I'm too vanilla ????//// jk I have literally no experience with the male physique so writing a homoerotica scene was just way out of my depth, I have absolutely no clue how any of that works sadly. Not to worry, I will write a boy on boy scene ONE DAY!!!!!


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